


Orcs

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Fingolfin questions prisoners





	

Orcs. 

  
   Fingolfin stared in horror as the prisoner was brought in, he, it, seemed more scar than elf, if elf it was. Fingolfin gestured to the guards, who stepped back to stand by the door. Fingolfin showed the prisoner to a seat, and he sat down, looking around in apparent confusion. Fingolfin poured a generous measure of miruvor and offered it to the prisoner, who gulped it down.

  'Miruvor'croaked the prisoner 'I never thought I would taste it again. ' suddenly he slid off the chair onto his knees, eyes overflowing with tears as he lowered his head to the ground 'I'm safe ! I'm really safe ! I've dreamed of this moment so many times, I do not wish to awaken from this dream !'

  Fingolfin helped him back into the chair.

  'Who are you ? What is your name ?' he asked. The prisoner looked up at him from the once clear, blue eyes, now glazed, scarred and red with blood.

  'My name is Maledhil, of the house of Turgon. I was a scout, I was made captive some years ago, in the twelfth year of the sun. I resisted ' his voice choked into silence. Fingolfin did not interrupt. 'I resisted them.' Fingolfin refilled Maledhil's goblet. Maledhil sipped the clear liquid and shuddered. 'They say "torture or be tortured." ' he said. 'I resisted them.'      

   He stood up and pulled the rough tunic over his head. Fingolfin scraped his chair backwards across the floor as he sprang to his feet; the skin was gone in a broad strip across Maledhil's stomach, and as he turned around, Fingolfin saw the thick mesh of criss-crossing scars of differing stages of healing, some old and white and layered over with fresh wounds. Fingolfin put his hand over his mouth, the guards looked ill. The face of Maledhil had been cut open repeatedly, his nose broken more than once, his ears had both been removed, bones in his arms had been broken and badly set, there were burn marks on every visible patch of skin; it was incredible that he had survived.

  Fingolfin sighed. 'But Maledhil, you know our ancient law, once an elf is taken they are dead.'

  Maledhil rose to his feet, slowly and painfully 'My lord' he croaked 'I resisted them.' Fingolfin sighed again and sat back in his chair with his fingers steepled together, gazing intently at Maledhil's eyes. He saw only fear and doubt, but that seemed understandable. He looked up at the guard

   'Bring in the other prisoner.' 

 

  
*************************************************************************

 

   This prisoner was an unscathed elf who declared his name.

   'Bergil, my lord, of the house of Finrod. We were ambushed by orcs where the road passes close by the cliffs at the south east corner of Ered Wethryn. They threw rocks down at us, sire, I was rendered senseless, and when I awoke, I was in a comfortable room, with food and wine, water for bathing and books to read. They kept me locked in that chamber, and I saw no one. Then I was led forth in shackles and looking about me I realized where I was. ' His face went white, his fists clenched and he shook, reliving the moment of horror. 'It was Thangorodrim. I awaited torment and death, but they led me to the front gate, unshackled me and pushed me out. Sire, I have revealed nothing of our circumstances to the Enemy, for he asked me no questions, none at all.' 

  
  While he had been speaking, Maledhil had pushed himself painfully to his feet, and shuffled forward for a clear sight of Bergil's face. He jerked back, then screamed and lunged for Bergil's throat 'YOU ! You treacherous, lying spawn of Ungoliant ! I'll kill you myself, you murdering piece of dog's excrement !' Fingolfin and the guards siezed Maledhil and forced him back into his chair. His knuckles white on the arms of the chair, almost spitting in fury he screamed again, but this time at Fingolfin 'Sire ! This is one of the Enemy's favourites, he has tortured me himself ! ' He pointed at his raw, red stomach, the scabs cracking and splitting as he twisted with rage 'HE did this !' 

  
   Bergil was white with shock, and backing away holding his throat, said 'Sire, I swear, I've never seen this elf before, I've told you the truth sire, I can only repeat the truth.'

  
   Fingolfin bowed his head and thought.

   'Torture or be tortured.' he said softly, and looked up at Bergil's smooth skin and glossy hair. He was unharmed, in very good health, and unlike any prisoner Fingolfin had ever seen or heard of. Just because Maledhil looked like an orc, it did not follow that he was one. If he had truly endured all that had been done to him without surrendering his virtue and valour, then his honour was intact. Furthermore, he was a hero. Fingolfin made up his mind. Everything Maledhil said made sense. He stood up and offered his hand to Maledhil

   'Welcome to my house, they will take you to the house of healing now.' Maledhil wept and kissed the hand of Fingolfin. As he passed Bergil, he leered, and Bergil, who knew he himself was innocent, realized the mistake Fingolfin had made 

  
   'My lord, its him, he's the orc spy, not I ! Its not 'torture or be tortured, its torture and be tortured ! He's an orc spy, sire!'

   But they led him away. 

 

  
    In Thangorodrim, Melkor raised his glass to Mairon

   'Confusion to our enemies.' he said.

 

 


End file.
